day their lot may be cast in happier places, wher 

 they too may have gardens to tend. 



Helen Ruthurford Ely. 



Even in the stifling bosom of the Town 

 A Garden in which nothing thrives has charms 

 That soothe the rich possessor; much consoled 

 That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint. 

 Of nightshade or valerian, grace the wall 



He cultivates. 



William Cotvper. 



Cowslips, wind your yellow ribbon through the low 



green meadow, 

 Violets in the pasture, put on your hoods of blue; 

 The children of the poor man have no grand garden 



spaces, 

 They have neither rose nor Jily, and they depend on 



you. 

 Make haste, O airy columbine, to trim your scarlet 



bonnet. 

 And stand upon the hillside in beautiful array ; 

 O darling pink azalea, unfold your lovely blossoms. 

 Like flakes of sunset vapor, and make the woodland 



gay! 



Start up in every field, ye hosts of crimson clover; 

 Scatter gold, O dandelions, along the grassy floor ; 

 Bring forth your rosy whorls, O wild briar in the 



hedges ; 

 O dainty daisies, come and fill the gardens of the poor! 



Mary Frances Butts, 



Flowers seem intended for the solace of ordinary 

 humanity; children love them; tender, contented, 

 ordinary people love them. They are the cottager's 

 treasure; and in the crowded town mark, as with 



